CRAZY LITTLE SPRING CALLED LOVE

This delightful fantasy romance anthology features eight magical stories inspired by the awakenings and renewal of springtime. If you love gods and goddesses, fairies, djinn, druids, mermaids, sirens, and magic of all varieties, Crazy Little Spring Called Love delivers!

Excerpt from M.T. DeSantis's story: A Hunt for Love

Three hundred years, eight months, two weeks, five days, seven hours, six minutes, and twenty-three seconds. That’s how long it’s been since I was last out of my planter. So, when someone rubs the side of my home, I’m understandably thrilled. A brilliant silver light surrounds me, eradicating the soul-crushing sorrow I’ve felt for so long. In a flash, I’m out in the sunshine, wearing my favorite pale blue sundress, and facing a startled-looking, but kind of cute, human male, who I instantly know is named Adam Jones. Djinn magic is useful that way.

“Congratulations, Adam Jones!” I trill like a game show host. Coming out of the planter means the magic updates my cultural knowledge to the current times. “You have called upon Janessa, djinn of the planter, and I shall grant you three wishes.” I flick my wrist, and a silver wand with a star on top appears in my left hand. I point the wand at my lucky new master like a reporter might shove a microphone at a superstar. “So, what’ll it be?”

Adam doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even move, except to blink a few times.

Uh, hello? I just offered this guy three wishes. Why isn’t he asking me for riches beyond his wildest dreams or a harem of beautiful women? Not that I’m complaining too much. The longer he takes to make up his mind, the longer I get to stay outside. It’s one of those perfect spring days, where the breeze flutters the ends of my waist-length auburn hair. The sun warms my skin, and a deep breath brings the scent of fresh grass into my nose. Yeah, you just keep deliberating, Adam.

“I must have dozed off.” Adam rubs his eyes and leaves them closed for a long time. When he opens them, they pop wide again. “You’re still here!” He flinches. “I’m talking to my dreams.”

“I’m not a dream.” I stop basking in the glory of daytime long enough to wave my wand. Some harmless silver sparkles float through the air. There’s nothing worse than a master in denial. Well, except for being stuck in darkness for over three hundred years, but I digress. “My name’s Janessa. I’m a djinn, and you rubbed my planter. So, now you get three wishes.” Honestly, has this guy never seen Aladdin?

He snorts. “Right. I’m supposed to believe you came out of my dead grandmother’s planter, somehow knowing my name, and are now going to grant me any three wishes I want.”

“Not any.” Maybe he really has never seen Aladdin. A flick of my wand makes a scroll with three bullet points unroll in midair. I tap each point as I read it off. “The standard limitations apply—no killing, no resurrecting, no falling in love. Other than that, you got it.” I tap the top of the scroll, and it disappears.

“This is ridiculous.” Adam turns his back on me and hurries away with long, powerful strides.

I take a moment to admire his backside, which is accentuated nicely by his jeans, before teleporting in front of him.

“Ah!” He jumps back again. “Listen, dream fairy lady—”

“Djinn.” Ugh, I’m so sick of people mistaking me for a fairy. Do I have wings? No. “And I’m not a dream. You rubbed the planter. You get three wishes, excluding the limitations mentioned earlier, and I’m not leaving until you make them.” Which is a technicality. I can’t leave until he makes them. Not that I want to go back in the planter for another three hundred years, but I don’t want to follow a confused guy around for the rest of my existence either. I poke him in the chest with my wand, and a patch of his shirt sparkles silver. “Now, get wishing.”

To his credit, Adam doesn’t huff away this time. He folds his arms and taps his chin with one pointer finger. “Okay. Fine. If my life is going to insist on being ridiculous, I’ll fight fire with fire. No falling in love, but I bet if I wish for a scavenger hunt to find my one true love before dinner—”

The words take over my body. The arm holding my wand thrusts skyward. “It is done.” A silvery-pink lightning bolt streaks from the top point of the star. There’s a clap of thunder, and a single sheet of paper floats toward the ground.

To find out what happens next, get your copy of Crazy Little Spring Called Love!

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I do not read every book from authors I host on my blog. I appreciate their journey and hope you enjoy learning something about them. Readers, please take time to research each book and use your judgement before buying.